


In Which John Watson Is (Understandably) Confused

by Peanut_Butter_writes



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, M/M, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22272643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peanut_Butter_writes/pseuds/Peanut_Butter_writes
Summary: That wasnothow John had pictured his morning going.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty
Comments: 6
Kudos: 108





	In Which John Watson Is (Understandably) Confused

In his time at 221B, John had learned that sometimes, his and Sherlock’s shared living space would host … _peculiar_ things. Undoubtedly, Sherlock had his reasons, but undoubtedly John would continue to be surprised every now and then by _what_ exactly it was that Sherlock had dragged to their flat. He had grown used to it, and took most with a grain of salt. However, every now and then he was still caught off guard.

Surely, the one thing John had never expected was to walk into the living room one Sunday morning and find Jim Moriarty sitting placidly in Sherlock’s armchair, which was exactly the situation in front of him. 

Moriarty grinned at him, clearly enjoying every second of his bemusement. 

“Morning, Doctor,” he greeted nonchalantly. 

John didn’t answer. The longer he looked, the less the scene made sense. Moriarty’s hair was mussed up as if he’d been asleep, he was sipping from a cup of tea, and - bloody hell, was that Sherlock’s dressing gown he was wearing? 

“Sherlock?” John called out, not breaking eye contact with Moriarty, who continued to drink his tea with a self-satisfied smirk. “Why is _the world’s only consulting criminal_ in our living room?” 

Moriarty tut-tutted. “He didn’t let you know about our arrangement? You poor thing! I can’t say I blame him though.” What was he talking about? What “arrangement” was he talking about? Quick, heavy footsteps signified Sherlock entering the room behind him. 

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ve invited him. He won’t cause trouble,” Sherlock replied to John, before patting Moriarty’s cheek as he passed the armchair and directing his attention at him. “Though I do believe your time is almost up.” 

“Aww, we were having so much fun!” Despite his complaints, Moriarty rose from the armchair. “This is yours,” he crooned at Sherlock, and - no way. John averted his eyes as from Moriarty shrugged off the dressing gown and revealed what he was wearing underneath - which is to say, nothing. Moriarty was standing buck-naked in his living room. What was this morning coming to? That was just unnecessary icing on this already bizarre, hellish cake. 

He stood speechless, his mind trying to catch up with what could possibly be happening as Moriarty strode past him to Sherlock’s room. The door clicked shut and John slowly turned to face his flatmate. 

“What the hell was that?” 

Sherlock fixed him with a disinterested, patronizing look, as though John was being intentionally ignorant of a logical conclusion. John knew that look well by now, and he was starting to get tired of it, especially at times like this where there was absolutely no clear explanation. _At least, no clear explanation for us ordinary humans_ , he amended bitterly. 

“We called a truce. Twelve hours to resolve sexual tension, then we go back to trying our damnedest to tear each other to pieces.” 

What? 

_What?_

John was utterly dumbfounded, which was often the case in Sherlock’s presence, but normally he was in awe at some miraculous deduction. Normally he was dumbfounded because the answer was now obvious, not because Sherlock had said something so baffling - so preposterous - 

This was all some sort of fever dream. It had to be. There was no way - there couldn’t be - 

“Are you saying that you invited Moriarty into our flat for the sole and solitary purpose of having sex with him?” John managed to splutter out. 

There was that look again. “Of course. I work best when I’m not … preoccupied. Really, this was the simplest solution.” 

John put his palm against his face incredulously. He couldn’t help but let out a laugh at the absurdity of it all. It was far too early for this. Not ten minutes earlier he’d been in bed, but he was starting to think that an alcoholic beverage or two wouldn’t be a bad idea. What was even going on? This was beyond the level he could comprehend Sherlock Holmes. For his part, Sherlock was already busy bent over an experiment and was paying John no mind. 

Interrupting John’s racing thoughts, Moriarty - thankfully dressed this time - reentered the room and sidled up beside Sherlock. “Do this again sometime?” he muttered, pointedly ignoring John’s presence as an unwilling onlooker. John tried to at least be polite and focus on something that wasn’t the two of them, but that proved to be hard to do when nothing else was going on in the flat. 

Sherlock never removed his gaze from his experiment. John wondered if he hadn’t heard Moriarty, until he caught Sherlock’s quiet, “Perhaps.” 

Moriarty just chuckled and stepped away. John began to hope that maybe - just maybe - this nightmare was over. He should have known better. He should have seen it coming. Moriarty always had another trick up his sleeve, and apparently his goal this time was to devastate John’s morning as much as possible. He drew back his hand and - oh no. John wished he could have looked away fast enough to avoid witnessing Sherlock’s arse receive a hearty slap. 

And with that, Jim Moriarty left 221B Baker Street.


End file.
